Writer's Block
by O'Malley's Girl
Summary: Post-breakup Nick Miller finally gets serious about writing his book (and discovers a rather embarrassing love for fancy coffee drinks). He decides the book might be the only way he can honestly tell Jess how he feels, but he's having trouble finishing it, especially since the guys keep trying to hook him up with the girl he asked to edit it. Ness, Schmidt/Cece
1. Chapter 1

_Notes: _Post-breakup, sometime between seasons 3 and 4 (mostly because I haven't caught up on season 4 yet :/) This is Nick and Jess start experimenting with dating and/or sleeping with other people. Ness & Schmidt/CeCe. ALSO, it starts out slow but please bear with! I haven't written a fic in a long time and this is my first ever New Girl one, so be gentle. I'd SERIOUSLY LOVE to hear your thoughts so feel free to hit that review button! THANK YOU!

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><p><strong>Chapter One.<strong>

"Why are we here, Schmidt?" Nick Miller was desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was standing in a fancy coffee shop. He'd tugged the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and was peering at the people behind the espresso bar suspiciously, as if they could tell that he didn't belong here, that he wasn't the type to order a venti extra shot caramelly latte with no foam and vanilla sprinkles on top. And hell, they weren't wrong. He usually slogged back whatever was left at the bottom of the coffee pot in the loft. No sugar, no cream…just the dregs. And he liked it that way. It made him feel manly.

Yet here he was, a 7:30 in the morning, waiting with Schmidt in a line for the world's most overpriced cup of coffee and trying not to make eye contact with the yuppies in line. They obliged him, mostly because they were looking right through him or instagraming their frothy drinks.

"Seriously, Schmidt, I don't want to pay five dollars for one of those fancy coffee things," he said. Schmidt exaggerated his eye roll and shook his head at his friend.

"You truly are uncultured swine, Nick Miller," he said. He waved a hand, indicating their boho surroundings. "This is where you belong, you know. This is the classic writer's abode. This is where the writing happens. Here, under the warm lights with a cup of coffee to keep you motivated while your mind opens itself up to the words…"

Nick rolled his own eyes at Schmidt's monologue. "I thought bars were the classic writer's abode."

"Not since day drinking on weekdays became frowned upon. Listen, this will be good for you. You'll like it."

"Not likely," Nick muttered under his breath, but he was too sleepy to argue further. The truth was, since he and Jess had split up, his energy levels were at an all time low. Which wasn't to say that he didn't experience bursts of intense emotion, because he did…and then promptly felt like hibernating afterward. He could tell that Schmidt was growing increasingly worried because there were more vitamins crushed into his food these days, and he had been trying to force Nick out of his comfort zone and into unfamiliar territory. Hence this trip to the local coffee shop, filled with kids in their twenties writing their screenplays and dreaming the typical LA dream of movies and money. It wore him out, but these days everything did.

When they reached the register, Schmidt rattled off a complicated and incredibly annoying order. He used the words sugar-free and no foam a couple of times, but the girl behind the register nodded patiently. You could tell just by looking at Schmidt that he was a bit high-maintenance, and frankly Nick thought anyone who didn't make their own coffee in the morning was probably a little bit pretentious anyway.

He finally forced himself to make eye contact with the barista, or whatever her job title was. She was pretty, and paying attention to him in a way that once upon a time would have made him puff out his chest a bit more and try out a joke or something. She smiled at him warmly. He knew he should smile back, but he couldn't muster it somehow. Still, it was nice to know someone was taking a look. Suddenly he realized he'd been standing there without ordering for too long and he still had no idea what he wanted.

"I'll have…uh…"

"Amateur," Schmidt said, and his exasperation at Nick's cluelessness might have been a ploy to get the barista to return her attention to him. Same old Schmidt. Nick could have probably pantomimed the rest of the conversation, but he didn't say a word as his friend took over.

"I'm so sorry, he's new at this. Let's start him off with something gentle, like a vanilla latte. He's delicate, so not too hot."

"I'm not a child, Schmidt," Nick reminded him, but his tone was mild. He really did feel like hell.

"And maybe an extra shot of espresso," Schmidt added, ignoring his friend to smile charmingly at the barista. She was still looking at Nick, grinning a bit at his discomfort. She wrote their cups, charged the order to Schmidt's card, and waved a little as the two of them headed toward the pick-up counter. Nick waved back to be polite, wondering what she could possibly see in him. He was misery in a hoody. How could that possibly be attractive? And he didn't want to be attractive. He didn't want to be anything, except maybe drunk. Or amnesic. That way he could stop thinking about how he had somehow, out of nowhere, lost the love of his life.

"You really gotta snap out of this, my friend. I mean it's just incredibly unhealthy. We're all worried, all of us. Winston thinks we should have an intervention, but Coach and I are pretty sure you just need to get laid."

"I don't want to get laid, alright? Jesus." Nick rubbed his hands down his face, trying to hold onto his patience. "I'll be okay, I just need everyone to shut up about it."

It was incredibly hard to be in the loft with the guys. They all wanted to talk about it, or else they very deliberately talked around it, and everyone kept shooting him and Jess those puppy-eyed looks that made him want to scream even though he knew it was because they all cared for the two of them like family.

"Sure, sure. That's completely immature." Schmidt laughed sarcastically. "Did I say that? I meant understandable. Now wipe that turtle off your face, because I have something that should make you smile."

Nick suppressed, somehow, a groan. "Schmidt, I swear to God, if you try to give me another notebook full of 'Schmidt's Sexiest Sex Tips,' please for the love of everything holy burn it. Burn it in a fire."

"No, although you should be honored that I would share some of my best seduction moves with you, a mere peasant." Schmidt handed him his cup of vanilla-y crap. "Instead, I direct your attention to your delicious, handcrafted beverage."

Nick glanced at the cup in his hand, then lifted it to examine the writing closer.

"That, in case you had forgotten due to your regression to caveman status, is a phone number. _Her_ phone number," Schmidt said, gesturing to the girl that had taken their order. Nick stared at it for a moment longer.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"You should call her. You really should. I mean, please Nick, I'm begging you, call that girl. Bang her senseless. Bang her until your legs get out and I have to ladle water into your mouth to save your life."

"Shut up, Schmidt. Seriously. Just shut up." Nick turned away from the barista and looked around the room, which was full of kids on their laptops or tablets. "So what now?"

"Now," his friend said, pulling Nick's laptop out of his briefcase, "you sit down and you drink that little cup of heaven and you write. No loft, no Jess, no bar…just write, like you're always telling me you want to do."

He set the laptop on an unoccupied table and pulled the chair out with a flourish. "Please, Nick…it will help you, I promise."

Nick gazed at the laptop, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoody. He looked a little bit tempted, and that gave Schmidt a burst of hope.

"What are you going to do while I'm…" he gestured lamely at the computer.

"Oh don't worry about me. If you're not going to hit on that sweet little coffee maker, I am."

"Gross, dude. Seriously. Go find a jar."

"Whatever, I'm doing it. Write your fingers off Hemingway!" Schmidt slipped away as Nick settled himself into the chair and flipped open his laptop. This was a terrible plan…it wasn't going to work, he'd just stare at the screen and think of Jess and how miserable he was without her and how he didn't deserve her.

But the vanilla-y crap _was_ pretty delicious.

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><p>Nick didn't look up again for hours. It hadn't started out well. There had been a lot of cursing and people had scooted their chairs away from him when he randomly yelled at his empty word processor. But then, fueled with far too much espresso, he just…wrote. Just like Schmidt had said he should.<p>

It wasn't good. Well, it wasn't good yet. But for the first time in two weeks, Nick felt okay. He had a little energy (which could have been from the fourth vanilla latte), and he'd actually accomplished something. _Z is for Zombie _was actually, seriously on its way.

The barista girl had gone, and so had Schmidt (not together, to his friend's great disappointment). His butt was a bit numb, but for a while he had been able to think about something other than the fact that his heart had been demolished.

He double and then triple checked that he'd saved, then he picked up his laptop, dumped the four empty cups in the trash, and headed home to the loft. Unfortunately, he'd lost track of time and he arrived at the elevator at the same moment Jess did. Her eyes were wide and impossibly blue when she saw him, and he managed a smile. He felt fidgety from all the espresso, and from her proximity to him, and from the fact that they were alone.

"Hey Jess," he said, managing a smile for her. She was the only person he'd made the effort for in the past couple of weeks.

"Hey Nick," she replied, smiling back but without her normal exuberance. She didn't know what to do or say, and her hands fluttered against her pretty yellow dress.

"So, turns out I like fancy coffee drinks." He laughed. It sounded nervous, but he went with it. "Who knew?"

Jess surprised him by actually laughing, and suddenly his smile was genuine. He could feel his chest lightening the way it always did when she laughed.

"What?" he asked, starting to chuckle himself.

"Was that a Schmidt idea? It sounds like a Schmidt idea," she said, and he ducked his head and laughed a little.

"Yeah, yeah it was." He rubbed the back of his neck a little and glanced up at her, still overwhelmed a little by how pretty she was. She spotted the laptop tucked under his other arm and pointed at it.

"Were you writing?" Her smile was full of excitement, and God help him, he wanted to pull her in close and tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her. He didn't do any of those things, but his hands ached with the need to touch her.

"A little, yeah. So far it's a lot of _very_ graphic zombie attack and brain-eating action, but it's a start. A real start, not the stuff I gave Winston. I think it was the coffee, I dunno, I felt razor sharp. Like, whoa, watch out, don't cut yourself."

Rambling was a good sign. She always made him ramble. Probably because higher motor functions just stopped when she looked up at him with those knockout eyes. He didn't want to leave this elevator because this felt good, it felt nice. He couldn't touch her but hearing her laugh at something he'd said almost made up for it. He felt human again.

But the doors slid open on the fourth floor and they were back in the loft all too soon. And the loft was, completely unsurprisingly, chaotic.

"Winston. _Win-ston!_" Schmidt was chasing their roommate around in a towel. "Did you mix your utterly inferior conditioner into my Redkin Cool Finish conditioner? Because I can feel the difference, and my hair is already drying out. _Winston!"_

Jess glanced up at Nick, confused, and he shook his head. "Winston's been practicing his pranks. But I've been messing with Schmidt's fancy shower stuff since college so he's still in the minor league as far as that's concerned."

Coach was standing in the kitchen, his eyes glued to the Pistons game on the television. He in no way acknowleged Schmidt and Winston's antics. He didn't even take his eyes off the TV when he lifted his beer to his lips.

"Hey guys, how's—" Jess started, but then Coach erupted into loud and wordless protest as a foul was called against his team.

"_WINSTON! I HAVE A NETWORKING EVENT AND I NEED TO MOISTURIZE MY HAIR!"_ Schmidt shouted.

"Schmidt, too much, stop it, WHY ARE YOU DROPPING YOUR TOWEL?" was Winston's panicked reply.

Nick shook his head, put his laptop on the kitchen table and then took up his usual position on the couch. This was what it was to be home these days. Normally he would have been giving Coach shit or else helping Winston to perfect his pranks, but suddenly he felt that old exhaustion creep in, and he turned his eyes to the game and forced himself to hope that the Pistons would get destroyed in the last half.

Jess settled onto the couch too, and he could feel her eyes turning to him every once in a while. He wondered what he could say to recapture their earlier lightheartedness, but it was hard in this apartment, surrounded by their idiotic – although lovable – roommates.

"Can I…can I read it?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Huh?" Nick turned to look at her, caught off guard.

"What you wrote today. Can I read it?"

"Oh, uh…" He froze, suddenly afraid that she would hate it. She had taught a creative writing class after all, and his first effort to write his novel had not been a glaring success. "Actually, I think I'd like to polish it up a bit first. It's a bit rough right now…"

"Sure, yeah." She smiled at him, although it was a bit more forced than it had been before. He felt a pang of loss at that, but he wanted his book to be perfect before he handed it over to her.

But now he had a new problem. He needed an editor. A really, really patient editor who wouldn't judge his spelling too much.

Before he could come up with anything, Winston walked out of his bedroom. He was covered in cheap conditioner from head to toe, and he looked as though he had stared into the abyss and then the abyss had stared back into him.

"Uh, yeah. Don't touch Schmidt's hair stuff. Really. He gets…oddly aggressive in a very uncomfortably sexual way," he said, and Nick covered his face in his hands and wondered how in the hell they hadn't all killed each other yet.


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes: _Thank you so much for all your warm responses to the first chapter! I was overwhelmed in a completely fantastic way! This story has been knocking its way around my head since the breakup, and I'm happy to finally be writing it. Please continue to let me know your thoughts as the story progresses. 3

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><p><strong>Chapter Two.<strong>

Jess held onto her coffee mug as though it were a lifeline, breathing it in for a moment and trying to find her normal spark. She was usually a morning person, and today was another beautiful LA day, but she'd been having trouble sleeping. Her brain shied away from the obvious explanation: Nick no longer shared the bed with her.

But it was nice to have a few quiet moments in the loft before the others woke up. Coach was in his room grabbing the last few things he needed before they headed to their school, but otherwise the place was silent and she tried to enjoy the early morning sun streaming through the windows.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned to ask Coach if he was ready, but to her surprise it was Nick, looking a little sleepy but fully dressed. His laptop was tucked under one arm, and he covered a massive yawn with his other. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him out of bed this early, and she tried to ignore the fact that he looked perfectly huggable.

"Mornin Jess," he said, his words a little blurry around the edges.

"Good morning, Nick." She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. She resisted the urge to smooth down his hair, or to press herself against his warm chest and feel his arms come up around her the way they used to. "Are you going to write some more?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd put a couple hours in. Then nap for a bit before work. I got the late shift tonight."

"I'm really proud of you, Nick. And I'm really hoping that you'll let me read it."

He nodded, chuckling a little. "You just can't wait to get your red pen all over it."

"Well…hey, beside the point, Miller! You better let me read it before Schmidt or there will be hell to pay!"

"He said the same thing about you, you know," Nick said. He smashed his hair down a little bit and gave her a quick salute. "Have a good day at school, Jess."

He slipped out just as Coach walked into the kitchen, looking far more awake and alert than Jess felt. She gave one last lingering look at the door that Nick had disappeared through, then she turned her attention to Coach and let him lecture her on the importance of having a fresh breakfast rather than a caffeinated one. She dutifully listened as they gathered their supplies and headed for Jess's car to go to work.

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><p>He was on her mind all day, but then, that wasn't unusual. Jess had plenty of work to do, but little memories of Nick floated through her mind at random intervals. She usually chalked it up to still living with him. And…well, still being in love with him.<p>

Some days it was harder to remember why they split than others. She was terrified that they would grow apart the longer they were together. His goals were so wildly different than her own…

She shook the painful memories away, forced herself to hum a happier tune, and started in on the paperwork for organizing and funding a school performance for the theater classes. It helped to lift her heart and keep her mind off of Nick and the fact that he was writing – a little, at least.

"Heyyyyy, Jess." Coach strode into her office, smiling at her in that way that told her he was up to something. "Do you think you could, I dunno…clear out of the loft tonight?"

"Wait, what? Why?" she asked. And then it dawned on her. "Seriously, what's wrong with just keeping your latest lady-fair in your room? Please tell me that you're not going to have sex on the couch."

"I'll tell you why, Jess." He leaned down, propping his arms on her desk and ignoring her last request. "There are actually three reasons. Nick, Schmidt and Winston."

She laughed, nodding a bit. "Yeah, okay, I guess I can kind of get where you're coming from. But Nick will be at work…what are Winston and Schimdt going to do all night?"

Coach shrugged. "Hang out with Nick at the bar? He'll feed them enough alcohol to keep them happy. But I thought, you know, it might not be such a great idea for you to – he just gets a little distracted when you're around at his work, you know?"

The smile had left his lips and there was that look she'd been getting off and on for a few weeks. She forced herself to keep smiling at him as though there weren't ice slipping down her spine.

"It's fine. It's totally fine. I'll give Cece a call and we'll hang out. We'll drink pink wine and talk about boys."

Coach shuddered a bit. "Yeah, uh, that sounds great, Jess."

She knew that meant he thought it sounded horrible, but she didn't care. It actually sounded perfect to her. She'd been pretty focused on herself and Nick since the breakup, almost more than she'd been focused on them during their relationship (almost, not quite), so spending some drama-free time with Cece was probably exactly what she needed. She would bring her friend muffins to make up for her inattention over the past few weeks.

"Deal, you've got the loft to yourself for a while. I'm gonna have a PJ party!"

Coach laughed and tugged at a strand of her hair. "You do that, Jess," he said, and she smiled at the real fondness she heard in his voice. She waved as he walked out of her office, no doubt already planning his perfect romantic evening. Then she dug her phone out and sent Cece a quick text.

-_Margaritas and romantic comedies and pjs. Are you in?-_

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><p>Nick rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to head home and catch a little sleep before his shift at the bar, but he'd made more good progress on the book. It was still rough, but he was building something – a real novel. The characters were starting to come alive, to tell him the story instead of the other way around. It felt great. And so did the espresso rush that came with the frilly coffee drinks he was coming to like to an embarrassing degree.<p>

He stood and stretched, ignoring the weird look the other patrons gave him. "Yeah, yeah, my knees crack, so what?"

"So arthritis," came an amused voice from behind him. "But probably not for a few more years."

He spun to see the barista from the day before. She grinned at him, and he felt a small pang of embarrassment: he'd tossed her number away the day before without so much as a second glance.

"Sorry, I should mind my own business." In spite of her words, she didn't move and her smile stayed in place. "Couldn't help but be curious about you, though. This doesn't seem like it's your usual style."

Nick spread his arms and glanced down at his flannel-and-jeans ensemble. "Guilty – it's totally not. I mean, it _really_ isn't. But it's working for me right now." He returned her smile, feeling a little surreal about this whole situation.

"I can see that." Her eyes touched on the empty cups beside his laptop, and he gave an embarrassed laugh and a little shrug.

"I uh…like that vanilla crap. Stuff. Coffee. Sorry," he said. "See? I'm terrible at this whole boho thing. Is it boho?"

"Boho, hipster…it's something." She laughed. Normally a woman's laugh turned him on to no end, and she had a great laugh, she really did. But though he was enjoying their interaction, he found parts of himself felt numb to it. As pretty as she was, he didn't want her. And he should, he really should, but…no. It didn't feel right. Not yet, and probably not for a very long time.

"I'm Samantha, and if you call me Sammy, I'll kill you," she said in a very cheerful tone, and Nick laughed as he reached out to shake her hand.

"Jeez, I'm intimidated now. I'm Nick, and the same rule applies for Nicky. I seriously hate that."

"Right, Nick-not-Nicky…you're a writer?"

"Actually, I'm a bartender over at Clyde's. I'm just undercover as a writer," he told her. The banter felt comfortable, which was nice, although he reminded himself not to go overboard with it. He really wasn't interested in dating.

"Oh right, an undercover writer. Should you be telling me this?"

"Definitely not," he replied. "I'll totally have to kill you now, but keeping the secret was just too hard."

"Right then, make it quick. And send someone to feed my dog," she said, closing her eyes as though she were waiting for the fatal strike. Then she peeked at him with one eye and he cracked up.

"So, can I read your stuff sometime?" she asked. He hesitated…that seemed a bit personal. On the other hand, he really did need help polishing it before he handed it over to anyone he cared about. He especially wanted it to be a decent piece of writing before Jess saw it. And a stranger's opinion would be a lot more honest.

"I dunno. It's one of those unfinished novels. You got any experience with this sort of thing?" he asked her.

"Well, I manage this place for one, so you know I'm the nerdy, bookish type," she said with a laugh. "And I also got a completely, one hundred percent useful degree in literature which I haven't ever used in a practical way."

"That sounds…perfect. You've got the job," he said. "Would you mind…you know…correcting things and giving critical feedback? Because, I'm not going to lie, I need a lot of help."

"Sure. Once upon a time I wanted to be an editor. Hence the Lit degree. But it sounds like a lot of work…I may have to stop by Clyde's to accept my payment in booze," she said.

"Deal," Nick said with a grin, "because paying you in beer is probably all I can afford anyway. But hey, listen…could I get your number again? I…uh…definitely threw it away."

And just like that – with a roll of the eyes and a promise of beer – Nick had found an editor for _Z is for Zombie._

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><p>**<strong>NOTES<strong>: I know it might seem like Nick is flirting, but I promise promise promise this is a Ness story, and Samantha is NOT Nick's love interest. I had a lot of trouble deciding how I was going to intro her, but I felt like Nick is just the kind of guy that banters with everyone (unless he's being grumpy to them), and some people are smart enough to banter back and others just sit there while he pokes fun at them. Don't worry, Ness is the goal!

Up for chapter three: the guys avoid the loft while Coach romances a girl by hanging out with Nick at Clyde's, Jess and Cece have a completely ridiculously girly slumber party, and Nick realizes he may not be able to afford his growing coffee dependency.

THANK YOU FOR READING! You are all amazing and I am so grateful for you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: Thank you so much for all of your really awesome reviews! Please continue to let me know what you think of the story. Also, I am so totally down to discuss the show via PM, so if you'd like to talk about anything New Girl, feel free to message me. This chapter is slightly shorter but the next one should make up for it!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three.<strong>

Jessica knocked on Cece's door as best she could with an overnight bag tucked under one arm and her hands full of snacks and movies. She was actually very excited to be spending the evening with her best friend sans-loft drama, although she knew they couldn't avoid the subject of her roommates altogether. But it would be nice not to spend the entire night re-examining her heartbreak. She needed a break from the constant throb in her chest, and a good old-fashioned sleepover sounded like the perfect remedy.

She was already in her PJs, and when Cece opened the door, she was happy to see that her best friend was too.

"Perfect timing – I just opened a new bottle of rosé."

"I brought _moooovvvvviiiiiieeeeeessssss_," Jess sang happily as she followed Cece into her apartment. Cece had already spread blankets and pillows all over the floor in front of the TV, making a cozy spot for the friends to spread out and relax. The taller woman went to pour the wine as Jess spread out her additions to the set-up. Then she stuck the popcorn in the microwave and accepted a glass of wine.

"Let's get drunk and talk about boys," she said.

Cece laughed. "Real boys or movie stars we'd love to tear the clothes off of?" she asked, and Jess shrugged with a wide grin.

"We'll see where the night takes us."

Five minutes later and the two women were curled up amongst the piles of blankets and pillows watching _Pitch Perfect._

"We have to sing along," Jess said.

"I'll just sing quietly," Cece replied with a laugh. "You're the one with the voice, little miss."

By the end of the movie, the room was spinning in a funny, pleasant way and both women were giggling as Jess tried to explain how the romance in the movie could have been improved.

"Jess, you're such an idealist when it comes to love." Cece rolled onto her back and hugged a pillow to her chest, laughing. "You're the ultimate sap. And optimist. The ultimate sappy optimist."

Jess laughed. "What does that even mean, Cece?"

"That you still believe in all of _this,_" Cece replied, waving a hand at the TV. "In the movie version of true love, even after all weird stuff that has happened to us since high school."

Jess shrugged and lied down next to Cece, thinking it over. "I can't help it. You don't believe in it?"

Cece shrugged and hugged her pillow tighter. "I dunno. I don't think it's all as simple as that."

"Meaning your relationship with Schmidt isn't as simple as that."

Cece rolled over to look at Jess, then she tossed her pillow at her friend. Jess laughed and threw it back.

"Yeah, I guess. Have any of your relationships been that simple? Especially when it's really, truly love?"

Jess fell silent, all of her earlier giggles long gone. Her heart squeezed tight and she closed her eyes. "No," she murmured, images of Nick flashing through her memory faster and faster. There were so many moments when it had been simple, so many times when she was just happy. But the end hadn't been simple, and neither had their friendship since then.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have…I'm sorry, Jess." Cece reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. "New topic…how cute is Skylar Astin? I mean, I know he's a little younger than us but I just want to pinch his cheeks. Face or ass."

Jessica laughed in spite of herself. "You're incorrigible."

"I don't know what that means but I'm sure you're right," Cece replied with a laugh. "Come on, let's watch _Princess Bride._"

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><p><em>(<strong>Meanwhile<strong>)_

"Where's that melon stuff, Nick?" Schmidt was leaning over the bar, trying to spot that telltale bottle of melon liqueur that he loved so much. Nick frowned at him and shook his head.

"We're out."

Schmidt slid back onto his barstool and wagged his finger at his best friend. "I don't even know how you can say that with a straight face. You're lying."

"I'm serious, we're all out."

"When did you learn to lie so well, hm? Because normally by now you look like you've spent an afternoon playing in a broken fire hydrant."

Nick rolled his eyes and grabbed another beer for Winston. "It's because I'm not lying. We're out. Scout's honor."

"You were never a boy scout," Winston pointed out, and Nick threw his hands in the air.

"Shut up, Winston! Schmidt, how about a regular beer? Do you think you could manage to choke down a regular beer?"

But Schmidt had crossed his arms over his chest and was pouting. "I know you're lying to me, Nick, I just can't figure out why."

"For crying out loud…" Nick shook his head and moved away to help another customer. As soon as his back was turned, Schmidt climbed back over the counter and started rummaging around, looking for the hidden bottle of delicious spirits he was certain his friend had stashed somewhere.

"You've got a problem," Winston told him, leaning back a bit.

"I can't help it, it tastes like candy and you know I have a ferocious sweet tooth."

Winston just shook his head and took another long pull from his bottle. The bar was relatively quiet, probably because it was a weeknight. He should be studying for the police exam but every time he cracked open his books, he felt drowsy. He knew Coach was on the verge of strapping him to a bunch of weights and forcing him to focus, but for tonight he was free.

"Nick has a problem too." He looked down the bar at his friend, who was handing a couple of young guys a pitcher of beer. "I wasn't kidding about that intervention."

"Nick _does_ have a problem, but I'd say it's more to do with his grandfatherly fashion sense than his lack of sex life. If he fixes one, the other will fix itself," Schmidt said, still searching for the melon liqueur.

"I'm not sure that's true," Winston started, but Schmidt interrupted with a triumphant _a-HA!_ As he pulled out the bottle he'd been looking for.

"I knew he was lying!" He waved it in the air over his head. "Nick, you cretin, I found your dirty little stash!"

Nick looked over, shook his head at his friend in disapproval, and turned back to the group of guys that he'd been ringing up.

"He really is getting far too good at that. Where is all the sweat? All the stuttering and improbable explanations?"

Winston smacked Schmidt's arm. "Focus, Schmidt! What are we going to do about our friend spending the rest of his life alone?"

"That's an interesting question, Winston, and I think we should really discuss that after I've had about half of this sweet, sweet elixir."

"Okay but for real, we have got to address your thing with this melon stuff," Winston said, shaking his head.

Just then, a girl walked up to the bar. Schmidt immediately dropped the bottle to the bar top and took a nice long look. She was pretty and blonde, with nice blue eyes (although Jess had set the bar pretty damn high in that area). He straightened out his tie and shook his shoulders, loosening up for his opening line even as Winston moved to intercept him, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Nick!" she called, waving to him. Nick glanced over and gave her a quick smile, and Winston tilted his head in disbelief.

"He knows her?"

"Dammit, that's the barista from the other day. I knew I recognized her!" Schmidt tried to get around Winston again, but his friend kept him back.

"What barista, what's going on?"

Nick finished with the group of guys and made his way back in their direction, stopping in front of Samantha.

"I'm here to collect my first paycheck," she told him."

Nick laughed and braced himself against the bar top. "Fair enough, what'll it be?"

"Whiskey. An Irish one. And neat."

Nick nodded in reluctant admiration, pulled out a bottle of Tullamore Dew and poured her a couple of fingers.

"Let me know when you need another," he told her, then he slid over to Winston and Schmidt. "More beer or would you prefer something embarrassingly sugary?"

"Who's that?" Winston asked.

"You sly dog! I knew you'd break. I'm proud of you." Schmidt's smile was a mile long, but Nick was already shaking his head.

"It's not like that. Samantha's helping me out with my novel. I told her I'd pay her in drinks. That's it." He cut Schmidt off before he could comment. "Don't start, Schmidt."

"You should sleep with her," Winston said while the other two glared at each other over a bottle of melon liqueur.

"WHAT? Winston! I thought you'd back me up!" Nick had whirled to face him, genuine shock on his face. Winston shrugged.

"I'm serious, it could be good for you."

"I fully, 100% agree with our wisest friend. You _should_ sleep with her."

"You guys are idiots," Nick said, shaking his head. "She's my editor, okay? The end. I'm not ready."

"Nick, come on…" Schmidt reached out to grab his friend's arm, but Nick was already moving away, heading toward a new group of people at the bar. "Nick!"

He slumped and then poured about a shot's worth of melon liqueur into his mouth. Winston patted his shoulder and then downed the last of his beer.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes: <strong>There was originally going to be more to this chapter but this felt like a natural place to end it. Any thoughts? I'd love to hear your ideas if you have a minute! Next up (for real this time) the loft-mates deal with Nick's expensive new coffee habit, and Nick realizes what he's really writing about. Also, Cece and Schmidt share a moment of mutual concern about their friends.


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